Compliance Pt. 03

Olive must have returned to work looking every bit of a mess as she felt, or else there wasn't very much going on at the office that day, because Kent sent her home a few hours early. They had no way of knowing the cause of her dishevelment. Her encounter with her past Dom had left her with a tender purple bruise on the back of her neck, a persistent reminder that she'd just allowed her mouth to be violated mere minutes after being reacquainted. Whatever the reason for Kent's mercy, Olive was relieved to have some space to herself to relax, process all that had just transpired, and maybe even squeeze out an orgasm so that she could finally think straight.

The five year hiatus Olive took between college and law school had allowed her to save for her own apartment. Though she enjoyed the years she spent living with her ex-boyfriend, she was not built for cohabitation. Having a space all to herself was a requirement for such an undertaking as moving back to the city to study. It was a little studio above a laundromat, so she didn't have to lug her laundry very far, and when she opened the window the fragrance of clean laundry sometimes wafted into her room. The east-facing windows flooded the place with light in the morning, and she had a nice spacious bathtub, so really, all her earthly needs were met. Tiny though it was, it was her sanctuary.

Olive tugged off her skirt and stockings and began to run a hot bath. Try as she might to look professional, she still couldn't tolerate underwire bras when she dressed for work, so under her blouse was a comfy sports bra that didn't do very much for her medium-sized breasts in the way of lifting or shaping. There was no mistaking the erect peaks of her nipples through the soft fabric. She finished disrobing and regarded herself in her mirror. Her soft tummy hid fairly tight abs, and her hips flared out from her waist in a pleasing hourglass shape that she had worked hard to attain with a regular workout routine. Despite the muscle tone in her calves, there was still a jiggle to her thick thighs when she walked, and her ass was large, firm, and round. Olive's body carried the struggles and triumphs of her years on earth and overall, she was really happy with it-- soft, but strong, she liked to say. Like me. Soft, but strong.

She wasn't feeling very strong after the day's events. She washed her face and applied a sheet mask, then dipped a toe into the steamy bathwater. Finding it sufficiently hot, she lit and placed a rose-scented candle on her bathtub tray, and grabbed a spliff, an ashtray, and her phone, which she finally decided, with some trepidation, to switch back on.

She took a long drag, savoring the one-two punch of the relaxing cannabis and the invigorating nicotine, and sunk her body into the bath. Paul's bite on her neck was soothed by the hot water, but it would still be sore to the touch for days. Considering the marks he used to leave on her, she probably got off easy with just the bite.

So, what the fuck just happened? Paul remembered her, that much was obvious. Had he even implied...he'd missed her? Sure, some nights when she was masturbating, Olive would occasionally revisit the times that Paul would spank her purple, bind her body, and fuck her senseless. But she was sure that it'd take no time at all for him to have enough kink partners to replace any memories of his time with her several times over. Perhaps that was a foolish projection of her own wish to forget that old version of herself, the reckless coed with a fragile sense of self and even weaker boundaries. The girl who would lose herself in submission because it was one of the only things she felt she was truly good at.

It bothered Olive to discover that despite several years of distance, not just from Paul but from any kind of kink play, she had not outgrown this part of herself. She'd barely put up a fight when Paul beckoned her to his lap, grabbed and teased her body, and even penetrated her mouth. It was like she dropped into a trance. The only way she could make sense of how easily she succumbed was that she wasn't in control of herself. Endangering her professional integrity by engaging like this with opposing counsel was not something she'd ever do willingly. It was a really risky secret to keep. Walking back into her workplace with soaked panties and a bite on her neck had already been humiliating enough. If he was bold enough to move on her like that in his place of work, what was truly off limits for him? And the other thought that frightened Olive-- was she ever really as independent and grown up as she believed she was if she could be reduced to drooling fuckmeat at the sound of Paul's voice? He did not deserve to have that kind of power over her.

Olive's reflections were interrupted suddenly by her phone buzzing on the bathtub tray. She flinched in surprise, and some trailing ash from the lit end of her spliff fell into the bathwater.

"Giving yourself what I deprived you of today, Olive?" From the same number as before.

She inhaled deeply, filled her lungs with smoke, and then rounded her lips and released it all in a milky plume. Great. Not even an hour of peace before Paul had decided to check in and see if she was masturbating to him.

"You've done quite enough today, actually" she fired off in reply.

"I could do more if you came out with me tonight."

Would there be no end to this incredibly strange day? Olive replied "I'm busy, and if I wasn't, I wouldn't want to go out in public where I could be spotted with opposing counsel"

"Suit yourself. My place then. I'll order food."

Olive sighed with frustration and rubbed her temples. If Paul thought a free meal would still go as far with her as it used to when she was in college, he was sorely mistaken.

"What part of I'm busy are you not understanding?" There was a moment of stillness, her defiant question settling heavy over the conversation, before the three typing dots resumed composing Paul's reply.

The part where whatever you're busy with is worth the punishment I'm going to give you for not showing up for a date."

Olive scoffed at his choice of words. It had been over a year since she had been on a date. She had been really good about following her new rule not to let men distract her from pursuing her goals. (Of course, she usually reserved the ability to say no to other men.) No matter what Paul's true plans were for the night, Olive knew his intentions were anything but romantic. She also knew he was serious about the punishment. Eventually she would see him again if she didn't see him tonight, and as she had found out today, even if they were in his own goddamn office, he'd discipline and humiliate her just the same. So, really, complying with his demand to see her tonight was the most control she could have over what he would do to her. It was a double bind.

With gritted teeth, Olive reluctantly texted back, "What's the address?"

"Good girl." Olive shuddered as the following text told her where her destination was for the night. She ripped off her sheet mask, extinguished her candle, removed the drain plug, and emerged from the bathtub, taking one last, long drag on her spliff. She'd have to be good and stoned for whatever was coming next.

................................

Olive approached Paul's address, a loft building uncomfortably close to Galois and Stevens. She had taken the bus. Just like old times. She made a resolution to herself to avoid staying the night unless she absolutely had to, even if it meant she had to Uber back home. In the past, in the throes of her intense young devotion to him, she would have killed for the invitation to sleep next to him, to feel his breathing and smell his sweat and watch him work on the crossword over breakfast. Now, she only wanted some peace and quiet alone in her own damn bed. She mused to herself that that might have been how Paul was feeling back then, when his lack of regard for her had put her off of him. Maybe it was something she'd try to get closure on when they could speak freely. Feeling anxious and curious in equal measure, she buzzed Kleinfeld and heard the door unlock with a click.

When Olive ascended to the eighth story on the elevator, it felt like she'd left her stomach on the ground floor. She found Paul's unit and knocked twice. The door swung open and the first thing that struck her was how tall he was. He'd stayed seated earlier that afternoon in his office, and she'd forgotten that she only came up to his chest. He was in a crew neck sweater and dark jeans, and as his eyes roved her full figure they carried a gleam that was hard for Olive to place.

"You've, uh, made me feel a little overdressed," he finally confessed, running his hand through his fine hair.

"Oh, pardon me, you didn't specify the dress code," Olive retorted as she pushed past him into the apartment with ten times more confidence than she truly felt. Her choice of a soft hoodie and joggers certainly didn't scream 'date night,' but she thought it'd be a little naive to assume that it really mattered what clothes she showed up in. Paul chuckled quietly to himself, and then, to Olive's surprise, embraced her with one arm and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I guess I was excited. Aren't you?"

Olive took a moment to consider the question and shrugged. "I don't know what to be excited for. I guess I have some things that it'd make me feel good to talk out with you."

Paul's hand made slow, comforting circles on her back. "I do plan to make you feel very good, baby, but the talking will have to wait."

"And why is that?" she pressed.

"Because I'm afraid that talking won't be possible for a little bit." Olive tensed up as she realized that his other hand was holding something behind his back. Something that jingled. His hand slowly meandered up to cup the back of her neck, over her bruise, and then gripped tightly. She winced in pain and stepped back as he revealed a black leather band with a metal ring and prongs-- a spider gag.

"Are you fucking serious?" she cried. He guided her to the couch by the scruff of her neck and sat her down.

"Do you have a hair tie?" he murmured, as he rubbed her shoulders and arms. Wide-eyed, she wordlessly lifted her wrist, and he gathered all her hair in a fistful and secured it into a bun with her scrunchie. This would be her last opportunity to speak. Then, he fastened the gag around her head, sliding the metal ring behind her teeth. The "legs" of the metal spider forced her mouth open, and her tongue rested in the center of the ring. He tightened the band until it dug into her cheeks, forcing her face into an undignified expression that he found quite adorable, like a thirsty puppy. The look in her eyes, however, had descended from incredulous to dejected when he gagged her.

"Don't worry, pet," he assured her gently. "We'll talk over dinner. I promise." Then he lightly bit down on her protruding tongue and snaked his hands up to her breasts. When his thumbs found her bare nipples, he began pressing and rolling outwards, letting her small nipples catch on his thumbs every time he repeated the motion.

Olive's eyes rolled into the back of her head and seemingly, so did the lingering dregs of her resistance. The surprise of the bite followed by the sensation of the nipple stimulation had made her emit an animal groan into Paul's mouth, a sound that she barely recognized as her voice. His touch seemed to radiate outwards from her sensitive buds, the electricity crackling down her body to her pussy. In contrast to the heightened sensory experience overwhelming her body, her mind felt faintly muffled, as if it were smothered in a fuzzy blanket. As she sunk deeper into subspace, Olive realized something strange-- in a way, she felt grateful to him for the gag. Instead of coming up with the right thing to say, she had no responsibilities but to succumb, obey, and enjoy her Master. The three things on earth she wanted most desperately to do. The revelation felt so sudden, but so obvious, so natural. Through the fog, she barely made out the words, "You didn't even wear a bra. You're such a good girl..."

"Yeh, Ha-hee" was the closest sound her distorted lips could make to "Yes, Daddy." Her tongue twitched in its metal cage and drool trickled from the sides of her mouth. Paul pinched and tugged on her nipples and she moaned helplessly.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

"Yeah!" was the only coherent reply she could muster, because it didn't have any consonants. It did feel intensely, profoundly, deliciously good for her old lover to pay special attention to her erogenous zones. She suddenly felt silly for depriving herself of this kind of pleasure for so long. Her body was already trembling from the nipple play, and her pussy was contracting and relaxing, rearing for some release. For this reason, though her hands were free, she didn't resist when he pushed her face down into the couch and lifted her legs up onto the cushion so she was prone, facing away from him. Then, he pulled down her leggings.

"I don't even need to spank you because you've been such a good, sweet girl," Paul purred. "Daddy's very pleased with you, Olive." Olive smiled serenely at these words of approval and a fresh stream of drool leaked out into the couch cushion. He hooked two fingers into her aching pussy from behind, anchoring his thumb on her tailbone so he could pump them in and out. She sighed in pleasure as her juices coated his fingers and then she pushed her hips back, forcing him to penetrate further inside. She would have happily fucked his fingers for hours, but he didn't give her the opportunity, withdrawing them quickly. Her frustrated cry was cut off by a gasp of surprise when something cold and hard entered her pussy.

The metal object began with a narrow point that Paul twisted and drilled into the lips of Olive's hungry pussy, stretching her eager hole as it tapered wider. Then she would fully engulf it, drawing it in with a wet suctiony sound. When it was warm and wet, he removed it from her grip, and held it by its bejeweled handle.

"Relax, baby," he whispered, and he laid one hand on the small of her back as he slowly started pushing the butt plug into her tiny, winking asshole. She cried out in surprise and arched her back.

"Relax, Olive." It had been years since she had done any kind of anal play. She tried her hardest to target and relax the muscles of her clenched up sphincter. It would do her no good to be tense right now. She didn't want it to hurt. She reached one hand back to rub her clit, hoping the extra pleasure would ease her into accepting the toy into her ass. With the other hand she spread her ass cheeks so Paul could reach deeper. Finally, the plug slid in, stretching her hole as it nestled snugly inside her.

"Good girl!" Paul crowed. The sensation and the magic words only made her pussy spasm even more and she howled into the couch cushion. This was not where she thought the day would take her when she had woken up that morning. She no longer knew where her true self ended and her submission to Paul began. Maybe it had always been one and the same. Maybe this was what she'd been born for.

"Damn, we are going to have so much fun together," Paul intoned, groping Olive's ass cheeks and indulging in one hearty slap, relishing her yelp of pain. He knew he had been teasing her mercilessly, but it would be important to ensure her asshole was well-trained again. With that accomplished it was time for him to give back a little to his prodigal submissive. She deserved a treat for finding her way back to him, and complying so faithfully. He grunted as he laid down on the couch beside his straddling, moaning pet. Then, he slid his face underneath her quivering pussy and wrapped his lips around her clit.

The sweet musk of Olive's pussy filled Paul's nose as he vigorously licked and sucked her. He grabbed handfuls of her ass cheeks and pulled down. She rocked back and forth on top of him, soaking his face as gravity sunk her deeper onto his tongue. The plug in her asshole made it feel like all of her nerve endings were firing at once. She felt so full of Paul as she fucked his tongue, panting and wailing like an animal.

Olive couldn't help but feel lucky that he had decided to focus on her pleasure. She'd compromise on a lot of her personal rules if it meant that she could sit on her Master's face at the end of the day. Though she'd turn this encounter over and over in her head in the morning, in this moment she was nothing but a wanton slut who was only expected to take it in every hole, and cum on Daddy's face. What bliss.

The pressure began to build in her exhausted body, spreading from her dripping pussy and plugged asshole up into her belly. Paul's lips were still hard at work, and his hands kept moving too-- grabbing and shaking Olive's ass, trailing up and down her inner thighs, sending further shockwaves of pleasure through her system. Finally, he wrapped both arms tightly around her hips and held her body against his face in a firm bear hug as he flicked and sucked at her engorged clit. Her moans reached a fever pitch and she began to buck and squirm against him as she rode into the peak of her climax. With a final contraction of her abs and her pelvic floor, Olive shrieked, arching her trembling back. Her mind spiraled into fractal abstractions-- her home, her career, her free will, all of it floating mercifully far away, allowing room only for the sensation of Paul drinking her orgasm out of her spent pussy.

Paul released her hips and extricated himself from between her legs, sitting up and lifting her collapsed body gently into his lap. Through the gag it looked like Olive was smiling. Her cheeks were warm and rosy, her skin slick with sweat, her sensitive nipples still standing at attention. It was a view he wanted to enjoy again, so he grabbed his phone and took a photo while Olive was too indisposed to stop him. She only uttered a concerned coo that he quashed with a Shhhhh, leaning down to occupy her tongue with his while he stroked her hair.

"Good girl, Olive..."